Charms
by mr. eames
Summary: Oliver Wood finds himself charmed by a certain red-haired twin. Oneshot.


**Charms**

A/N: Because, quite literally, there's only one other story about this pairing from what I can find on here. And I find it adorable. This is dedicated to the first fan-fiction I ever read, featuring this very pair. Ah, memories.  
**Disclaimer**: I wouldn't mind to have Oliver and George to myself, but sadly that right belongs to Jo.

Oliver Wood is in a pre-Quidditch match induced mood. Meaning he's jumpy and nervous, barely sleeping and nearly falling asleep in every single one of his classes. So he should probably be spending the little time he has before today's match in the dorms getting some sleep. Instead he's sitting in the stadium stands, staring out at the field, gently rocking back and forth in a frantic state of mind.

In fact, he's so wrapped up in his thoughts that he doesn't notice the first greeting from him. "Oi, Oliver, how did I know you would be up here?" Oliver even misses the smile that is flashed at him. It isn't until George Weasley leans his head on his shoulder that he notices the red-head. "Oh, Oli, I love when you get that ominous look on your face. So hell bent on beating the other teams. Just take me now, darling."

"Gerroff me, you sodding idiot," Oliver responds, pushing the twin away, a furious flush consuming his cheeks. This response isn't bad in the least considering when Angelina Johnson _suggested _to him yesterday that they needed one night a week to study, not practice, the Gryffindor captain had unleashed a string of obscenities that had resulted in her punching him in the stomach.

"Alright, alright," George says, giggling in all his fifteen-year-old humor.

"Might I ask where your other half is?" Oliver asks curtly. This time he catches the ginger's smile, and notices, for some reason, how sparkling and alive it is. It must be because he hasn't really smiled in a straight week. That doesn't explain why he's noticing how glossy George's hair is, though.

"Fred is currently hiding out for fear you'll wring his neck," George says. "And, believe me, Oliver, I know you will have the urge to kill him once you hear this, but take it out on me if you must. I'm quite sure McGonagall will make quick work of disposing his body before you can say 'we're fucked.'"

"Oh, gods." Oliver's eyes grow wide and he groans. "Why would I be saying that?"

"It seems our dear Beater has gotten himself an extended detention with Minerva. Oh, Merlin, Oliver! I didn't really mean to take it out on me," George says with a wince, rubbing the arm that the older boy has just slapped senseless.

Quietly Oliver mumbles an apology as he places his head in his hands, contemplating what this news means to the match that is only a few hours away. Surprisingly he's pulled out of this train of thought by George grasping his shoulder. "Hey, you stupid prat, you don't actually think we're not trying to think of a way to get out of this, do you? It's the first match of the season. Fred's working his charms on McGonagall right now."

This is confusing to Oliver. He's not quite sure if it's because his mind can't focus on all that's going on right now. Literally, it won't shut up. _We're going to lose to Slytherin. Again. As always. Bugger, bugger, bugger. Why is he keeping his hand on my shoulder still?_ Because George's hand is still there, and the twin is leaning ever so slightly closer. "Erm, his…charms?" Oliver manages.

"Well you know," George says with a wink. And Oliver had always thought that George was the more subdued twin. It doesn't seem the case right now, as he leans his head onto Oliver's shoulder, grinning up at him. "These natural charms us two seemed to be blessed with. I do reckon all the girls find us charming, don't you?"

"I, er…well, I suppose they-they do," Oliver stammers out. By Merlin's beard, he's getting too old for this. His brain is trying to think of something witty to say. How _do _the twins do it anyway? "Well, I'm sure a great bit of the male population does too." And where in the bloody hell did that come from? Oliver isn't used to this. What's normal for him and George is to have Fred there too and to be discussing how best to knock a Chaser of their broomstick.

"Oh, do you really think so now?" There's this special glint in George's eye that's highly inviting. Why hasn't Oliver noticed this before? He's never really paid much attention to the twins, whenever he's around them its Quidditch this and Quidditch that. Come to think of it, that's basically his entire life. Maybe he should be paying a bit more attention to the twins…George in particular. "And why do you think that? Might you just happen to be one of them?"

It's things like this. No one ever catches Oliver off guard like this and no one – not even Katie Bell who he's supposedly been rumored to be dating – makes him blush like he is right now. "Right, well, what would you do about that, Weasley?" he mutters, trying to dismiss the question and only blushing even more as George lets out a burst of rasping laughter, leaning over Oliver's lap as he shakes.

"What would I do?" George says, in a tone that Oliver can't figure out. Still leaning over the older boy, the red-head grins up at him. "Do you really want to know?" There's a certain part of Oliver that wants to say yes just to see what will happen, but he finds himself shaking his head, defiant as ever. "Goodness, Wood, I'll take that as a yes."

"What are you doing!" Oliver gasps, as George practically straddles him. Fuck, he hopes no one is watching them. What a story this would make. Oliver Wood and George Weasley found in a terribly compromising situation.

"Sometimes, Oli, you really should consider shutting your mouth and letting your body do some of the talking," George retaliates. Then he's leaning in, and, gods, he's kissing Oliver in the most amazing way. It might just be because Oliver hasn't been kissed in months – Katie Bell is all rumors, after all – but he's sure it's the more forbidden aspect of it all. That he's worried they'll get caught, but doesn't quite care because, really, why should he when this feels so bloody good? George's tongue is soft and deft, exploring his mouth with vigor, while Oliver's hands involuntarily twine themselves in that ginger hair that feels like it hasn't been washed in days. And that's exciting. Everything about this is exciting. Pulling away, George grins demurely, "See, if you did that more often I'd definitely _love _to listen to you."

"We might be doing a lot of talking then, George," Oliver confesses in a low voice, and he smiles as the twin plants a kiss on his cheek, sweetly, his lips lingering on the older boy's face and then kissing along his jaw line and moving down even more to his neck. Oliver hasn't even noticed it but his arms are instinctively wrapped around George's waist.

"Well hello there you two, am I interrupting?" Oliver nearly jumps up and almost moves to push George away when he sees Fred, walking up the steps of the stadium towards them, but George just rests his head on Oliver's chest.

"Not really," George says, innocently. Except now Oliver knows he's not innocent in the least. "So did McGonagall relinquish her pitchfork? Has she decided to forfeit the horns for a halo?"

"Detention's set for tomorrow night, and may I add, an hour less than it was supposed to be if we win," Fred says with a wink nearly identical to his twin's. George's is so much more attractive, really. "Not that she's trying to bribe me or anything."

"I'm sure we'll win then, right Oli?" George says, slapping the side of Oliver's left thigh and causing the captain to mutter something about how of course they will and blush profusely. Perhaps even wish he could disappear.

"Oof, not to be cheesy, but you two seem to have already won," Fred says with a laugh. "I'll just leave you two alone. Looks like Oliver wants to have a chance to score for once." And with that he's gone, leaving the two alone once more.

"So about me scoring…," Oliver says, surprised he can even speak at all.

"Perhaps if we win," George replies, chuckling at the look this creates on the other boy's face. "I should have warned you, Wood, I'm a bit of a tease."

"Just one of your many charms," Oliver sighs. He's not quite sure what he's getting himself into, but he's really never felt so alive. Of course, Quidditch would always remain prominent in his mind but really…who is he kidding? George Weasley certainly is a tease, and a bit of prude, really, he nearly freaks when Oliver's hands find their way up his sweater. Smart in such a strange way. Nearly psychic even, as he seems to know exactly what to do, but naïve in exactly how to do it.

It doesn't matter to Oliver though. Such are the charms of this unique individual, George Weasley.

**A/N**: Reviews are love. (:


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